


My Life in Bay City

by hutchynstarsk



Category: Starsky and Hutch - Fandom
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Prejudice, Recovery, outside pov, post-SR
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-02
Updated: 2012-07-02
Packaged: 2017-11-09 00:33:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/449263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hutchynstarsk/pseuds/hutchynstarsk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Joe Lawrence is temporarily assigned to work with Hutch while Starsky recovers, he has no idea what to expect from the partners and from Bay City--or how it will affect him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Life in Bay City

My Life in Bay City

by Allie

I stood beside Captain Dobey’s desk, waiting to be assigned my new partner. I was feeling pretty nervous.

The blond man with the moustache slouched in, looking like death warmed over. He took one look at me, and gave a spine-freezing glare.

Hey, when I’m doing someone a favor I don’t expect to be treated like dirt. I glared back.

"Hutchinson," snapped Dobey. "You’re going to get a new partner. I don’t want to hear any arguments." He pointed one thick finger at the blond man. "Starsky’s out of commission, but you’re not. Until you quit the force, you have to work. I need you on the street, and you need backup. Now no argument. You’re going out with a new partner—at least for now," he added, to soften the blow. He sounded angry—and guilty, as if he halfway didn’t think he was doing the right thing, but felt like he had to do it anyway.

Hutchinson turned to me. He had a sour look on his face still, but the glare had softened somewhat. He looked me over. I looked him over.

It’s not like I’m just dying to partner with a white man. But Dobey needed my help. He believes in this guy, and from what I’ve read, I can understand why. He and his partner Starsky were sort of the stars around here, until Starsky got gunned down. Despite his ‘miracle recovery,’ he was nowhere near ready to rejoin the force, and might never be.

So here I was, called in as a favor. "Look after one of my men for me," Dobey had said.

Hutchinson was about my age. He looked unkempt and angry, and oh-so-tired. I didn’t look forward to this assignment, but I was going to do my best. This guy really did need some help.

Dobey introduced us, mumbling a little. "Ken Hutchinson, this Joe Lawrence. Joe, this is Hutch. Shake hands."

I reached out and shook his hand. It was big and strong, but he shook my hand reluctantly.

"Guess we’d better get going. I’ll show you around," said Hutchinson. He had a surprisingly soft voice. Still sounded angry, though.

Well, I wasn’t all that happy about this either.

The man barely spoke three words to me the rest of the day. I kept telling myself it was because he missed his old partner. Dobey wouldn’t stick me with a racist.

I trust Dobey. We worked together down South on a special case awhile back. I trust him with my life.

For another thing, wouldn’t he, of all people, know if one of his men had racist tendencies? But I found myself wondering. Maybe his men treated him respectfully to his face, but if there was a black man in the ranks, they’d close lines against him.

I had noticed there wasn’t another African-American face besides Dobey’s in sight at the Bay City precinct. Hutchinson the WASP might be all too glad to see me go—and not just because he missed his wounded friend.

But I kept quiet, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt and take in the tour of precinct—my desk, the records rooms, etc. He showed me around pretty well, and then left me alone with a typewriter and some files splayed around on the desk.

I glanced through some of them. I went to get myself some coffee from the machine. The coffee was terrible. I noticed some of the men watching me, keeping an eye on the new guy. Nobody came to say hi.

Hutchinson didn’t come back.

When it came time for the day to end, I clocked out and drove myself home, mad enough to spit nails.

#

I was waiting for him when he drove into work the next day. He drove an old beater; I was surprised it was still running. He looked even grungier than yesterday. Maybe he’d slept in his clothes; they looked suspiciously similar to yesterday’s: a green flannel shirt, even more rumpled, a faded pair of jeans, and brown boots.

I kept my arms crossed, moved to stand in front of him. "Appreciate if you tell me before you take off for the day."

He snorted. "I hardly need to tell you--"

"You do if I’m your partner. Even temporarily. Look, I’m not trying to replace what’s-his-name."

"Starsky."

"Right. I’m not trying to replace him. I can’t. But I expect you to treat me civil as long as we’re stuck together. And that means you watch my back, I watch yours—and we let each other know where we are when we’re on the clock. Can you do that, Hutchinson, or do _you_ want to be the one to march in there and tell Dobey you can’t stick it?"

His head came up and blazing blue eyes met my gaze. "I can stick it," said Hutchinson.

"Good. ‘Cause I don’t want to deal with your white-boy crap. I got enough of my own trouble. We have to work together. We’ll get along fine, long as we understand each other."

He looked like he wanted to say something, hesitating a moment. "I’m not gonna—be… a good partner. I’m always worrying about Starsky. I should be with him. But I took off all the time I could."

"You can talk to Dobey, ask for more."

"After six months, he started to say ‘no.’"

I whistled. "Six months? Boy, he’s awful lenient with you. He must like that partner of yours an awful lot to let you get away with taking six months off."

"He does," said Hutchinson.

We went into the precinct building. Neither one of us felt like talking much the rest of the day. There was a wary truce between us. I could do this job, if he wouldn’t hogtie me. And he was gonna try harder; I could tell by the way he brought me coffee, almost apologetic-like.

Then he had to go sit down and type real hard on his reports, like they took all his concentration, instead of like he was trying hard not to get overcome by emotion.

That day we ate at the cafeteria. He sat with me, once in awhile trying to make small talk, but most of the time forgetting to talk or respond to me, sunken in his own gloom.

But now the other officers came over (at least some of ‘em), and introduced themselves. I could see they’d been taking their cues from Hutchinson, and if he’d continued to snub me, the rest of the force would likely have followed. After all, I was the outsider. They’d close ranks against me in a second.

Or…was it because I’m black?

That thought nagged in the background of my mind, an ugly, unspoken lie or truth. If it was a lie, then it had poisoned most of my life. Thinking every white person saw me that way—as black first, and then a man.

But it wasn’t always a lie. Sometimes it was the truth. I’d experienced that enough to be wary. But when I was wary and I turned out to be wrong, then I felt judgmental and downright uncharitable. It’s a tight rope to walk sometimes.

Anyway, it looked like this precinct was going to accept me, at least outwardly, as a temporary officer.

I could handle that. Didn’t need any trouble. I didn’t need any of ‘em to be my best friend either, just to work with me and not treat me like I’m less than them. Dobey’s influence alone wouldn’t decide what went on outside his doors, but Hutchinson’s example would help a lot, and since he’d eat with me, I couldn’t be all bad in the eyes of the BCPD.

The rest I’d earn, the same as I always do. Long as I can get a fighting chance.

#

That afternoon we cruised around, keeping an eye on the streets. Once in a while, Hutchinson explained something to me in his quiet voice, sounding disjoined at times. Sometimes he forgot to explain something important, and I had to just play along, try to keep up with him—or force myself to ask what was going on.

At first, I’d just about rather die than ask him any questions, but when I realized it was just distractibility and not haughtiness, I unbent enough to ask him something now and again.

I kept tactfully silent about his car, though. I figured his finances must be pretty bad, to drive an old beater that belonged in a junkyard.

After the first day, I didn’t want to be seen dead in it, so I’d pretty much insisted that we take my car, a maroon beauty with a fine engine and a lot of power. I laid down the rules, too. No smoking in my car, and no spilling ketchup or mayonnaise on the leather seats. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t break my rules, either.

The third day working together, we stopped off at a place called The Pits for lunch. To my surprise, it was run by a tall, skinny black man who greeted Hutchinson like his long lost brother. He walked up to him, arms spread, pronounced "Hutch!" and wrapped him in a hug, then held him at arm’s length. "Have you been eatin’, my man?"

Then he looked past Hutchinson and for the first time saw me. But he didn’t look surprised. "My man." He slapped my palm lightly, and then gave it a good, firm shake. "Word on the street is you’re Hutch’s new temporary partner. Are you taking good care of Captain America here? The man’s not safe on his own."

Hutchinson made a face. "Hug…" he complained.

"Oh yeah, that’s right—my name’s Huggy Bear, and pretty much everything’s my game." He drew back a little, squinted at me. "I’ll get you the latest Huggy special. You look like you could use it after a day of trailing a certain blond cop around. Mh-mm."

I said, "I’ve kept up."

Huggy grinned; it seemed to split his face in half with mirth. "By the skin of your teeth, my brother. By the skin of your teeth!"

He went away laughing. He hadn’t asked what Hutchinson wanted.

We sat down in a booth awkwardly facing each other. Huggy’s ease and good cheer seemed to throw my and Hutchinson’s awkwardness together into sharp contrast.

To make conversation, I said, "Never could understand where that phrase came from. Skin of your teeth."

Hutchinson looked down at the table for a long time, moving a spoon around in a little circle over a rather stained spot on the table. "Neither could I," he said in a small voice.

"Maybe they meant gums," I suggested, somehow feeling that I’d said just the wrong thing at the wrong moment.

"Starsky’d know," said Hutchinson in an even quieter voice. "He’d have read about it in a—a book." The last word was choked off. "Excuse me." He jumped up and bolted for the bathroom.

I watched him go, a sour pit in my stomach.

Huggy returned with a big bowl of chili for me, and a bowl of soup for Hutchinson. "This is just the first course," he promised. He slid into the booth opposite me. "Listen, my man. You can’t take it personally. He and Starsky—they’re like brothers. Closer, even. Breaking that pair up is always a mistake. But now, the gods have spoken. Starsky’s knocked out of the game for now. Starsky is hurting, and Hutch is hurtin’ with him, even when he can’t be there. So I meant what I said about you lookin’ after him. A man half blinded with pain can’t always see the straight path—but Hutch is a good man. He won’t let you down, if you let him know what you need for backup."

The eccentric Huggy Bear was suddenly sounding just a little too wise and knowing. I found myself nodding in spite of myself.

And I also felt reassured. Here was someone who knew Hutchinson and his mysterious partner, and was obviously their friend—even though they were about as different as you can be.

And, yes, it helped that Huggy was black. If both Dobey and Huggy were on these guys’ side, they couldn’t be all bad.

I was finishing my chili when Hutchinson returned, not looking at anybody, and sat down to eat his getting-cold soup. I felt almost charitable towards him, after the chili and Huggy’s words.

When the waitress (looking fine) brought me a ham sandwich and boiled greens, I didn’t complain at all.

Hutchinson peered at my plate. "What’s—collard greens? I’ve never seen those for sale here before?"

He reached out his fork, like he was going to poke at my plate. Then he pulled it back quick, like maybe he’d get lead poisoning if he did.

I continued to eat them. They were nice and tender, simmered slow and with good, meaty flavors worked through. It had been awhile since I’d had really good collard greens. It made me hungry for macaroni and cheese, too. But I wasn’t about to ask for more soul food in front of the white guy, who already looked too surprised by what I was eating.

Huggy approached. "Mm-mm. Keep your fork to yourself, my man. Yours is on the way."

Hutchinson turned in his seat; his jeans squeaked against the slightly sticky booth chair. "Huggy, what’s with the new food? You have a new cook or something?"

"Yeah. The old guy quit. I hired a friend of my aunt’s, and boy, you haven’t tasted anything until you’ve had her cooking. Just eat your greens, and I’ll have somethin’ even better for you next time you stop in. She’s just gettin’ started back there, and the downside with hiring a woman who’s a mother and an aunt and a grandmother, and older than I am, is that I can’t exactly tell her what to make." He gave us a wink. "She cooks what she wants—but it’s GOOD."

Hutchinson laughed. It was a feeble laugh, all right, but it was a laugh.

Huggy gave him a pat on the shoulder. The waitress brought his collard greens and a turkey sandwich with watercress. And Hutchinson ate it all.

The next day, we had peach pie to die for. I was going to get as fat as Dobey if I kept eating here. I couldn’t resist the food Huggy’s new cook made. Hutchinson couldn’t seem to resist it, either. He finished all of his macaroni and cheese and pie, and most of his salad as well.

I thought we were getting off to a pretty good balance, and so far the work had been manageable, without any of the kind of dangerous situations where you have to be able to trust your partner completely to back you up.

But after that last, great meal together, there was trouble. A robbery at a downtown jewelry store. We drove there as fast as my car could take us.

"I’ll take the back," I said. He just nodded, his face getting tight, and pulled his gun and got out of the car.

I ran around behind the building, hurrying so he’d have backup. It took me a minute to find the back way in, but I got it, and made it inside just as I heard the angry voice of a punk say, "I’m not gonna tell you again! All of it!" I heard a gunshot, and a woman screamed.

Well, I couldn’t exactly wait around. I jumped out from behind my cover, and shouted, "Freeze! Police!" Civilians hunkered on the floor, a scared proprietor behind the counter. The punk, a thin white man in his twenties, wore a ski mask. He looked jittery and strung out.

Just then Hutchinson burst in the front. "Freeze! Police!"

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Part 2

The punk heard me first and whirled towards me, his gun coming down and towards me. I could see he was going to do it, and flung myself behind the counter. It was a split-second decision, but I didn’t want to fire in a room of civilians.

Two gunshots, in close succession. I landed funny, like the wind was knocked out of me. I tried to get up, to see what had happened, but I must’ve landed wrong. I couldn’t seem to get my feet beneath me.

Someone was screaming again. I looked up, and there was Hutchinson, and the worried face of the proprietor.

"Call an ambulance," said Hutchinson. "Don’t worry. Just lie still," he told me, his shaking hands pushing me gently back down. "They’ll be here soon."

Then he was applying pressure to my shoulder, which had gone numb.

"You’re okay, you’re okay," he kept repeating. But his hands were shaking hard, and tears were slipping down the end of his nose.

#

I woke up in a hospital bed, next to a thin, curly-headed white man.

I ached everywhere, but especially my shoulder. My shoulder was bandaged, and I felt the tell-tale muddying sensation of painkillers, all too familiar from when I got out of ‘Nam the hard way.

The white guy was watching me.

I turned a glare at him, not feeling like being stared at. "What’s the matter, did you think it was whiteys only?" I snapped, in my meanest voice.

A second later I was sorry I’d let my tongue run away with me.

He gave a slow, surprised blink, and then glared back. "No, I wanted to see if you were awake enough so I could say ‘thanks for looking after my pahtner.’"

Then he turned away, facing the wall with a "humph" of righteous indignation.

I felt like a real heel.

I’d finally met Starsky.

#

I was hurting too much to apologize properly, but I gave it a try before slipping off to dreamland. The next while was foggy, but when I woke up, Starsky was still there, and he was smiling. He was smiling with a kind of affectionate pride on Hutchinson, who had arrived looking awkward with a box of chocolates and a batch of flowers.

I snorted. "What are you, my date?"

"I didn’t know what to bring," said Hutchinson, sitting them down awkwardly on the table beside me. He sat on a chair between the beds, facing me. "Hey. How do you feel?"

"Like hell. Did the punk make it?"

"No," said Hutchinson, very quietly. "My aim was too good." He looked pale and his hair was disheveled. He really needed someone to take care of him; he obviously wasn’t doing it himself.

I remembered his hands shaking, and those tears slipping down his face. I just couldn’t look at him the same way, knowing he was that upset when I got shot.

I mean, nobody wants even their temporary partner to get shot, but still.

"I’m glad you’re all right," he said quietly.

I nodded gruffly, not really knowing what I could say. "Hand me my water?"

He did.

He stayed for a few more minutes till I got tired. As I drifted off, I saw him going over to talk with his friend. Starsky was smiling at him, both affectionate and proud.

I didn’t stay awake to hear what they said.

#

Since we were stuck together for almost a week before they released me, I got to know Starsky pretty well.

When Hutchinson described someone who would know the answer to my question about where the phrase ‘skin of his teeth’ came from, I’d expected to see a stuck-up know-it-all worse than Hutchinson.

Instead, his partner turned out to be more self-educated than not. And he didn’t have one stuck-up bone in his thin body. He was, physically, trapped in that bed most of the time, but his eyes were bright with life and a hunger for living.

He’d read to me from his trivia books or the newspaper, as if he just couldn’t keep his mouth shut when he learned something interesting. Other times, he talked about Hutchinson, or told jokes. He was the kind of guy you’d like to be stuck in the hospital with, a real cheerful, life-of-the-party type.

Sometimes, he got moody and quiet, and didn’t have much to say. But most of the time, he put himself out there, making an effort to cheer the both of us up. He even talked me into playing Go Fish and Blackjack, getting the nurses to push our beds close together so we could both reach the pile of cards. He talked wistfully about Monopoly, but he didn’t have the game here.

He tried to think of a practical joke the both of us could play on Hutchinson, but I wouldn’t agree to that. I don’t like ‘practical’ jokes. To my mind, they vary from childish to sadistic, but they’re rarely fun for all parties involved.

He said, "Spoilsport. At least don’t wreck it if I come up with one."

"No promises," I said.

He stuck his tongue out. Sometimes, that man could act downright childish.

The one thing we didn’t talk about was ‘Nam. My radar had gone up almost immediately, and I knew he had been there, the same as he knew I had. "Long tour?" he asked me, casually.

"Not so long," I replied. "You?"

"Long enough." He smiled, and changed the subject.

That was it. We had assessed it in each other, and then quickly set it aside. I don’t like remembering those days. I guess he doesn’t, either.

Hutchinson visited regularly during that week, once a day. He had no idea what to bring me, and I refused to encourage him by giving him any hints. I didn’t want him buying me stuff.

But every day, he arrived with something for each of us.

I couldn’t blame him for bringing Starsky gifts, because Starsky obviously looked forward very much to his daily present, no matter how small. It was something for him to look forward to, something to make the days run together less.

But Hutchinson would also bring me something—a magazine, a potted plant, a stuffed toy from the lobby. He just wouldn’t quit bringing me junk.

Starsky let out a jealous yelp when he saw the stuffed toy. "Hutch!" he complained, sounding like a five-year-old. "You never brought me a green teddy bear!"

"I brought you the red one," he replied seriously.

"You didn’t tell me they came in different colors! How many, Hutch?"

"Five."

Starsky crossed his arms and glared at him. He had quite a glare for a man too weak to stand on his own for more than a minute. "You mean you’ve been bringing me puzzle books when I could’ve had five different colored bears?" he demanded.

"I’ll—bring you one next time," Hutchinson promised guiltily.

I started laughing. They couldn’t figure out why.

#

By the end of the week, I was well enough to go home.

Hutchinson still visited me in my apartment, rather guiltily, I thought. It was a bit more awkward without Starsky there.

Hutchinson was a good man, and he tried to help me out by offering to help clean my place up (he was really bad at it), solicitously offering advice, or bringing food over. That, I didn’t mind—because it came from Huggy’s.

Still, I was grouchy and in pain, and I’m afraid sometimes I took it out on him. He’d just withdraw then, and leave me alone. I had the nagging, guilty feeling that I was hurting him. I hadn’t meant to, but I’m not the best at keeping my mouth shut. I get grumpy and sarcastic when I’m hurting, and I was hurting a lot.

Eventually, I was well enough to come in to work—desk duty.

Hutchinson was still nice, bringing me coffee, asking if I needed anything, till I’d get grouchy and snap at him. Eventually, he lay off the mother-hen act and only helped me if I asked for it.

One day I asked to come along to visit Starsky. I felt like I was intruding a bit, but Starsky had seemed to get awfully lonely in the prison… I mean hospital.

Hutch gave me a big smile and said sure, Starsky had wondered when I’d be by to see him.

I made sure to take one of my pain pills before going so I wouldn’t snap his head off, and bought him a couple of candy bars from the BCPD vending machines before going. It wasn’t much as a present went, but he’d talked wistfully of the candy there so often that it seemed like the right thing.

Today, Starsky wasn’t the life of the party. He’d turned his face away to stare at the wall. His expression was blank. Hutchinson tried to jolly him out of his mood, talking of things at work. I offered him the candy.

"Go away," he said.

I did. I went out into the hall to wait. Maybe he needed to be alone with Hutchinson.

In the hallway, I could hear Hutchinson pleading with him to talk. And then, finally, Starsky’s very low voice in response. I couldn’t hear what he said. After a few moments, Hutchinson emerged, ashen-faced.

He walked from the hospital without seeming to see anything.

I followed him and asked him about it once we were in the car. "What happened?" I asked. At first he didn’t hear me. "What happened? Hutchinson, what happened?" I reached over and poked him in the arm.

"Huh?" He jumped a little.

"What happened?"

"Oh." He looked down at his knees. "The doctors told him he’ll never be a cop again."

"Oh." I ached for them. Yeah, me—tough as nails Joe Lawrence. I could see how the news had devastated them both.

Some doctors have all the tact of a mooing cow, trampling your dreams like a field of lettuce.

I cleared my throat. "When I got out of ‘Nam, the doctors told me I’d never walk without a cane."

Hutchinson looked at me in surprise, and blinked a few times.

"I beat the odds. Maybe he will. He’s certainly got the spirit for it."

Hutchinson ‘humphed.’ "He did," he said softly. "I’m not so sure anymore."

#

Hutchinson seemed more and more downcast every day, and sometimes grumpy. He didn’t talk much; he got moody. He was eating horribly, or not at all. I had to remind him about lunch, drag him along to Huggy’s, and even there, he’d only pick at his food.

Huggy tried to josh or guilt him into eating something, but it was like he didn’t hear us. He’d manage a few forkfuls and then forget the food was there again.

I really had to watch his ass on the job, make sure he didn’t get us both killed. We were back on the streets now.

Sometimes, he acted like he had nothing to live for.

I tried visiting Starsky on my own, but he didn’t want to see anyone. I called him, and told him what I’d told Hutchinson, trying to cheer up him and give him hope. He didn’t seem to care, or even hear me. He’d just shut the world out, and given up.

#

The man called Fat Rolly looked me up and down with distaste. He was short and round, and had a sort of sneering look to his face that set my teeth on edge.

"So you’re Hutch’s new partner, huh?" he said.

"Temporary partner," I replied. It was not only courtesy to my friends Starsky and Hutchinson that I wanted to make this clear to everyone, but also for myself. I did not want to get trapped here. It was temporary, and everyone needed to know that.

Rolly looked me over again as if seeing a cockroach that too big to squash, so probably it should be shooed out of the kitchen instead.

"Well, I’ll save my information for when Hutch is available. I don’t do business with…" He let the words hang a moment. "…just anyone."

I turned on my heel and left, hating how mad a two-bit thug could make me, how someone like Rolly looking down on me could make me feel sour and bitter against the world. It’s not like I care what some prejudiced stool pigeon thinks of me. It’s just another symptom of the messed up world. But every time I see such a symptom, I want to rage against that world. Keeping the anger inside makes my chest burn.

I got in my car and slammed the door. I picked up the radio and called the precinct, asked them to patch me through to Zebra three. Hutchinson was on the other side of town, following up another lead.

He answered. "Zebra three. Well?"

"Lawrence here. Rolly won’t talk with a black man. Your turn." No way was I going to try intimidating the information out of Rolly; he’d most likely lie to me anyway.

"Rolly said that?" Hutchinson sounded stunned.

"He implied it. He’ll wait until you’re available."

Hutchinson was silent a moment. Then— "Wait there," he said, sounding mad enough to chew bullets.

　

　

　

　

　

Part 3

I had wanted to gun my engine, roar down the street away from there. Instead I sat, clenching and unclenching my fists and jaw, waiting for the white man to show.

Hutchinson’s car squealed around the corner, and he parked clumsily, not far from my car. He hopped out and slammed his door twice before it stayed shut. His long, rangy strides look angry, looked almost as mad as I was. "Come on," he said. "We’re talking to Rolly."

"It’s not my fault he’s a jerk," I snapped.

"I know. Just come on."

I got out and followed him, glaring at his bossy back. There are times when I don’t mind if Hutchinson takes the lead, and other times I’d like to smack him upside the head. I did not want to go back in there for more of the slimy bigot. But on the other hand, you don’t let your partner down if he wants backup. So I followed.

Rolly was nursing a drink, watching a game of pool with a calculating expression when we entered. Hutchinson walked right up to him, grabbed him off his barstool, and shoved him back against the wall. Rolly was a little shorter standing than sitting.

"Hey!" yelped Rolly. "I’m spillin’ my drink here! W-what’s the matter, Hutch?" Then his eyes slid past Hutchinson to me, and stayed. He raised a hand in fake surrender. "Hey—I don’t know what he told you—"

"Enough," snapped Hutchinson. "Nobody treats my partner like dirt. You see Lawrence—you treat him with all the respect you treat me and Starsky—unless you’d like us to find some reason to lock you up for a little bit, Rolly. Bet I could find something right now. How many have you had to drink, huh?"

"Hey—now, Hutch. Don’t get heavy. I didn’t mean nothing. I just—I’m used to talking to you, that’s all." He gave a greasy, unconvincing smile. "Don’t take it wrong. I just have to know who I can trust."

"You can trust Lawrence, and you can apologize to him—right now." With flames in his eyes, Hutchinson shoved Rolly forward, wrenching one hand behind Rolly’s back, hard. "And you can _trust_ what I’m gonna do to you if you don’t."

The fat man yelped. "Hey—c’mon, Hutch!"

"Apologize!"

"I—I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean n—nothing," said Rolly, addressing me, sweating hard.

I gave a short, sharp nod, my face expressionless.

Hutchinson let him go. "You better not mean anything," said Hutchinson, pointing a finger at him. "Now tell us your information. I don’t have much to do today, and I don’t mind booking you for any charge, no matter how small."

Rolly glanced at me, then back at Hutchinson—and gulped, and spilled all his information.

On the way back out to our cars, I said, "You attracted a lot of attention in there."

"Good," said Hutchinson grimly. "Hope the word gets around."

"I can take care of myself, you know," I said.

He glanced back at me, blinked once. "It’s not just about you. It’s about people treating other people like crap because of prejudice. I’m not going to put up with that—especially not to my partner."

"Temporary partner."

"Well, of course." He looked surprised, as if that hadn’t needed said, it was so obvious.

"Just don’t get too used to having me around. I’m sure the nut will be back soon enough."

Hutchinson grinned at hearing Starsky described that way, but the grin didn’t stay for long. "I hope so," he said quietly.

Me, I walked back to my car feeling taller, somehow.

I didn’t need Hutchinson to stick up for me, but I was very glad he had. The very fact that he didn’t ignore prejudice just because it wasn’t aimed at him—the fact that he’d gotten as mad as he had—made me feel better than I had in a long time.

#

The next day—

"It’s tomorrow," Hutchinson told me, banging shut a drawer. "Starsky’s leaving to go live with his mother, tomorrow. She wanted to look after him, and—he’s going."

Then he looked down at his desk again, as if trying to remember what the papers and the typewriter in front of him were for.

I blinked a few times, and then got up and excuse myself. Not that he even heard me go. I made a phone call to the hospital, and asked if I could speak to David Starsky. I had to try one more time.

The nurse informed me he’d already gone to the airport. He’d gotten an earlier flight.

"Hutchinson." I ran back to the desk. "He’s sneaking out early. Come on. He’s at the airport now. You’ve got to at least say goodbye."

Hutchinson blinked at me, looking alarmed. Then he jumped up and grabbed his jacket.

I drove the fastest I could, and it’s only by luck that I didn’t get pulled over for speeding.

I made it to the airport. I slowed down on the way to get a parking spot, and Hutchinson jumped out.

I parked and ran after him.

Starsky was on the runway, in a wheelchair pushed by a nurse. He had a blanket over his knees, and was looking sickly and exhausted.

I stopped before I reached the two of them, uncertain of my welcome.

Hutchinson was bending down, talking to him earnestly. Starsky looked at his lap, nodding once, choked up. He looked up and said something, and Hutchinson withdrew, almost stumbling. He stared at Starsky a moment, and then turned and walked quickly back to the car.

Starsky’s eyes met mine, and he motioned for me to come closer.

I did.

"Look after him," said Starsky, in a funny, choked sort of voice. He was hard to hear over the planes landing and taking off. The nurse was getting impatient; it was almost time to board. Starsky looked like he wanted to say a lot more, but all he said was, "I know I can trust you to—to watch his back for me."

I said, "You asshole. He doesn’t care if you’re his partner again. He just doesn’t want to lose you. What kind of a child are you, running away, going back home to mommy? You think he can’t face it if you’re stuck in that chair forever? You think he’ll handle it better if you disappear?"

Starsky’s head jerked up at my first words, and he opened his mouth to say something.

I bent down to give it to him good, almost shouting the rest of my words over the screaming approach of an airplane. "I’ll bet you were never this much of a coward in ‘Nam!"

Then I turned and walked away, so angry at the both of them that I didn’t even look back to see if he was saying something in reply. I certainly couldn’t hear him over the airplanes.

Hutchinson was waiting in my car, his eyes closed, his head bent forward. I jammed the car into gear, and pulled back into traffic. It was so crowded I couldn’t move more than a few feet forward before stopping again. Kind of spoiled the speedy, angry exit I’d had planned.

Hutchinson didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes closed and massage his head as though it hurt him badly. He was grimacing.

I didn’t try to say anything. It wouldn’t have been helpful just then. I’d only have called Starsky a selfish brat, or something worse. Then Hutchinson would’ve had to either argue with me or agree with me.

Finally, I saw an open spot towards the road, and started to turn my car towards it. Something stopped me.

"—UTCH. DON’T MEAN IT, HUTCH. I’M SORRY. COME BACK! I’LL STAY."

We both turned and stared out the window. Hutchinson craned his long neck. We saw—

A wheelchair trundling out of the airport, pushed by a nurse. And Starsky, losing the blanket over his knees, holding a megaphone and calling into it.

He looked out of breath and winded—and more alive than I’d seen him in weeks.

Hutchinson fumbled with the door catch. Took him two tries to get it. Then he stumbled out of the car and ran towards his partner.

I pulled over and parked. I couldn’t stop grinning. I called Starsky a bad name and hit the wheel with the palm of my hand.

He listened to me after all, the son of a gun.

#

When Hutchinson came back to the car, he was smiling. He looked serene, like he was walking on air. "He won’t—he won’t go now. He said to tell you ‘thanks.’"

I nodded a little, and pulled back into traffic. Behind us, the nurse wheeled Starsky carefully to a hospital van. He waved and grinned at us. Then his hand flopped back to his lap, as if he was too tired even for that. He leaned back and closed his eyes, still smiling a little.

Hutchinson watched as long as he was in view. "Thanks from me, too," said Hutchinson in a choked up voice.

"Anytime."

He smiled at me. "I’m not going to ask what you said to him."

"And I’m not going to ask what you two said just now," I replied. "Some things are personal."

He nodded, as though that made sense to him.

"There’s just one thing I want to know," I said.

Hutchinson glanced at me. "What?"

"Where did he get that megaphone?"

Hutchinson laughed. "I don’t know. But I have the rest of my life to find out."

#

That’s all I can tell you, so far.

Starsky stayed.

Hutchinson is happy.

Starsky has decided he doesn’t have to believe everything the doctors tell him. He’s working hard, and he’s not shutting his best friend out anymore.

I don’t know if he’ll ever be strong enough to make it back on the force. But that kind of doesn’t matter, does it? What really matters is that he’s not giving up on himself or on life, and he's stopped trying to chase Hutch away.

As for me? Well, I’m watching Hutchinson’s back. Sometimes I even call him ‘Hutch’ these days. Why not? Everyone else does.

I feel like I’m learning a lot from Starsky and Hutch. For a temporary partnership, this has opened me up to a lot of possibilities. Friendship as deep as theirs. Finding a place where you fit in, people you trust. Not letting some people’s prejudice spoil the rest of the good things life has to offer. I guess it sounds odd, but I’m not jealous at all of their friendship. I’m glad I get to witness it, and I realize it’s something I want in my life, too. I’ve been a loner long enough.

For now, I’m making some friends, and even putting down some roots here in Bay City. I’m a regular at Huggy’s now, and I know my way around the city pretty well. I do my job. I watch Hutch’s back for Starsky and Dobey and all the rest of the people who care about them. Including me, now.

I don’t know how long I’ll stay—how long I’ll be needed. But it’s starting to seem kind of like home.

I’m even managing to keep that plant Hutch brought me at the hospital alive.

　

<<<>>>


End file.
